


Interlude

by LittleDarkling



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDarkling/pseuds/LittleDarkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik. Charles. A hot day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belong to Marvel. I’m just playing with them. No profit made and no infringement is intended.

 

 

 

    The sun burns bright outside. It is ninety-two in the shade and the air hangs heavy with a heat that makes their skin tingle and ache. The fan in the corner hums ceaselessly, serving only to push hot air around the small motel room. The cheap drapes over the window flutter at every rotation of the fan and the radio plays at low volume. Clothes are scattered across the floor, already flattened to the ground by the oppressive heat. Soft moans shift like smoke on the air. The sheets around them are moist with sweat and heavy, tangled around Erik's legs and Charles's waist. Charles straddles his thighs; his arms wrapped loosely around Erik’s shoulders. There is not an inch of space between them, bodies pressed close. The smattering of coarse hair on Erik’s chest rubs Charles's skin raw and he can feel Erik’s heart pounding against his own. 

 

Sweat drenches their bodies, rolling down his back, his arms, face and throat, drop by drop. He can taste it, in every breath he takes, the salt and dirt on the tip of his tongue. The scent of sex is a smoky vapor in the air, lingering, driving them on against each other. His hand moves to touch Erik's face, fingers rasping against the hint of stubble. Erik turns his head and rubs his cheek cat-like against Charles’s palm before he draws the younger man's long fingers into the heat of his mouth. He worries the pads with his teeth, wraps his tongue around the long, fine-boned digits, sucking in time with his languid movements. His lips are pink, swollen from rough kisses, his bottom lip still bearing the mark of Charles’s teeth. He releases the young professor’s fingers with a wet pop and moves to claim another kiss that tastes of tea and scotch, blood and metal.

 

Erik’s long fingers slide down the length of Charles's spine and it is nearly too much. He's come twice already and his skin feels naked, stripped down to nothing but bare nerve-endings so that every place that Erik touches makes him shiver and arch. His lips rub across Charles’s jaw and tease that sensitive spot just beneath his ear. Teeth scrape the lobe, making him groan softly, eyes squeezing shut. Every movement of his hips grinds their bodies together, slick and slow. He bites Charles's throat, scrapes the tender skin with his teeth until it reddens beautifully.

  
__  


A soft whimper escapes those sweet, plumplips as Erik’s fingers tease his cleft. Charles bites down on his shoulder, a shudder wracking his body. He turns his head, sweat-soaked hair rubbing across his cheek.

 

"Alright?" Erik murmurs. He rubs gently at the slick, swollen ring of muscle with his thumb and Charles jerks against him, a muffled whimper escaping him. "Charles?" The younger man's head lolls on his lean neck, forehead coming to rest on Erik's shoulder. His large hand cradles the back of Charles’s head, fingers threading through his dark hair and fingernails scrapping lightly over the scalp. " _Liebling_?" The young professor raises his head, flashes a lopsided, sated smile. His mouth forms around two words, barely a whisper. Erik hears it, reads it in the subtle movement of his lips.

 

"I love you," he murmurs in reply. Charles shifts, body sliding against Erik's as he pushes back against his lover's hand.

 

"Want..." he gasps. “Erik..." Those long, rough fingers push gently, tenderly.

 

"Want what, _meine liebe_ , hmmm?" Erik asks, nuzzling his lover's hairline. "What do you want?"

 

"F..f...fuck me--me," Charles manages, faltering over the profanities that come so easily to Erik but make the younger man stutter and flush. And Erik loves to hear those words fall from that lush mouth. Such vulgarities that sound all the sweeter and more profane coming from his Charles, who will not use such language anywhere else. But here, at Erik's mercy, that gentlemanly control slips. 

 

"Are you certain?" Even as he asks, he brings Charles down into the hot, flattened sheets. He stretches out over his lover's lean body, hips settling between Charles's trembling thighs. He grinds down as he kisses the younger man's chin, relishing the bone-deep tremor that passes through Charles's body as their arousals slide together. 

 

“Yes,” Charles moans, nipping hard at Erik’s throat. The flush that colors his skin does not hide the marks of possession Erik has left during their earlier activities. He bears his own, as well. The indentation of Charles’s teeth on the back of his neck and curve of his hip, the stinging scratches on his chest. They are bright pink, hiding the pale network of scars from Erik’s past. Charles determinedly leaves his brands over Shaw’s, as though he means to erase them completely. 

 

  Erik moves back to press a kiss to the younger man’s bent knee, rubs his lips across the small scar there—an attack by a neighbor's terrier when Charles was a child.

 

"So beautiful," he murmurs, hands sliding down slowly. He marvels for a moment at the contrast, his large, rough hands against the smooth, pale flesh of Charles’s thighs. His skin is damp, sticky with the evidence of their earlier coupling.

 

“You’re a mess, Professor,” he says quietly. Charles smiles lazily.

 

“Your own fault,” he replies.

Erik slides two fingers inside easily. Charles is still so wet and open. He watches, enraptured, as the younger man’s body draws him in greedily, clenching around his fingers. He projects the image to Charles and is rewarded with a stuttered,

 

“Oh, gods, Erik…” Charles’s face is turned into the pillow, blushing beautifully as his hands moving restlessly across the sheets. His breath comes in sharp little hitches every time Erik’s fingers curl inside him. He’s sore, Erik knows and it fills him with selfish pride that he alone can turn Charles from a refined professor to this mewling, wanton creature. Later, he thinks, he will work Charles to climax with only his fingers. And when he is pliant and sated, Erik will fuck him again. The young professor shivers beneath him and Erik smiles with the knowledge that Charles has picked up on that thought.

 

“Would you like that, _engel_?” he asks, knuckles rubbing against where he is sore and stretched.

 

“Yes,” Charles gasps. Everything Erik is feeling, everything he is thinking is flowing into Charles; he is too wrecked to stop it now and he has no desire to do so. He has had no lover like Erik. With others, he has had to be careful, to ensure that what he wants is what they want as well, lest he lose control and force them into it accidently. But with Erik…there is _nothing_ Charles desires, that Erik is unwilling to fulfill.

 

Charles breathes out shakily as Erik’s fingers slide out of him. His hips are tugged up, Erik’s thighs between his own, spreading him open. He looms over Charles, a shadow, dark eyes watching, waiting. Even now he waits to be offered this, though he must know Charles would not deny him.

 

“Do it, Erik,” he gasps. 

 

  It hurts, it _aches_ when Erik slides into him. Charles’s back bows sharply and his dry lips part in a wordless cry. The pain is welcome and splendid, because it is Erik. He clutches at the other man’s shoulders, his fingers slipping uselessly on drenched skin. Erik closes his eyes, finding Charles’s mouth blindly with his own. The kiss is slow and gentle, a counterpoint to the rough, jabbing motion of Erik’s hips. Charles sobs against his mouth. It is too much and Erik gasps. He can feel how overwhelming the sensation has become for Charles. Therefore, it is also overwhelming for him, taking apart his control. There is a clatter as the fan topples and something metallic squeals softly as it twisted. Charles’s teeth scrape his cheek and his jaw. His fingers thread tight into Erik’s hair, shoving his hips up to meet the other man’s thrusts. The radio squeals and dies, crashing against the floor as Erik’s breath leaves him in a sharp, near pained groan. 

 

He imagines their powers combining in one brilliant, cataclysmic collision. Destructive and beautiful. He fits his mouth over Charles’s, less a kiss than an exchange of panting breaths. The young professor’s voice is a desperate sobbing mantra inside his head. His name. Only his name, as though it is all Charles can remember in the whole of the English language. _Erik. Erik. Erik. Erik._ He knows the moment before Charles comes, the feeling a glorious rush of pleasure that surges through Charles’s mind and into his own. Erik shudders, buries his face against the sweat-drenched curve of his lover’s throat, driving deep and hard as he comes, rhythm falling into helpless, stuttering thrusts. _What you do to me, Charles_ , he manages.

 

“Erik…” A weak, fragile whisper.

 

 

 

The heat settles over them, a suffocating blanket. Still, they stay curled together. Erik sinks into the sound and feel of Charles’s heartbeat, strong and fierce under his hand. He strokes his fingers along Charles's forearm, smiling at the soft sound of contentment that rumbles from his professor’s throat. He nuzzles along his hairline and presses an affectionate kiss to Charles’s forehead.

 

"We need a shower. Some clean sheets." Charles nods his agreement, but makes no attempt to move. 

 

"You are aware you will have to get up? As much as I would like to, I cannot bring the shower to you." Charles makes a soft sound of protest when Erik tries to shift.

 

"Give me a moment. I will think of something," he replies confidently. Erik chuckles and rubs a hand over the curve of Charles's hip. The skin is soft, slick and hot. Despite his recent orgasm, his cock gives a little twitch. Charles groans tiredly at the flair of arousal that Erik cannot be bothered to hide.

 

“You are incorrigible,” he murmurs fondly.

 

“I am,” Erik agrees.

 

End

  
  



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